The Trouble With Fears
by BrOnZe-N-SilVeR
Summary: The trouble with fears is that they make you hide things from people. Gwen's fear of doctors makes her hide an injury from the team . . . 1st of a series featuring a fear of each team member! Please read and review! (Featuring Gwen, slightly out of character for the point of this story) Rated T just to be safe for some weevil-related violence. Enjoy!


Gwen slipped through the shadows outside the Millennium Tower, head down against the rain that was slowly soaking her. She was moving slowly, doing her best to keep her right shoulder immobile, and gritting her teeth against the pain that shot through her arm with every step.

Beneath her coat, her shoulder was in shreds.

It had happened early in the evening. Jack had received word of a weevil attack, and the team had sprung in to action without even a second thought. Even for Gwen, though she had been part of the Torchwood Team only a short time, weevils were becoming commonplace, the enemy they fought when nothing greater, nothing more sinister or bloodthirsty, surfaced.

In hindsight, it was probably that complacency that had allowed her shoulder to be reduced to long stripes of ripped skin and fileted muscle.

She wouldn't be making that mistake again.

Tosh had been the first to see the weevil, its uniform dark with blood, and she, Gwen, and Jack had spilled from the car, guns in hand, to pursue it on foot. It had wound erratically through the streets, eventually taking shelter in an unfinished building. By the time they had burst through the door, it was nowhere to be found.

"Split up. Guns at ready." Jack had said softly, his American voice echoing in the empty hallway of the half-built apartment complex. Gwen and Tosh had nodded, not saying a word as they turned down opposite corridors, to the left and to the right, as Jack bounded enthusiastically up the stairs.

Honestly, his enthusiasm was catching, as it always was, and eager adrenaline pumped through Gwen's veins as she paced down the shadow-draped hallway. Outside, the sun had almost completely set, and even as Gwen thought longingly of the torch she had forgotten to grab from the van, a fetid smell hit her nose and an animal growl filled her ears.

Ahead of her, the dark shape of the weevil separated itself from the darker shadows.

It had launched itself at Gwen even as she raised her gun, sending her shot harmlessly into the unfinished wall and dashing her gun from her hands. It had grabbed her by her shoulder then, claws and teeth alike tearing deep rivets into her skin, and Gwen had screamed, pounding uselessly on it with her fists, trying desperately to free herself while knowing that it was useless, without her gun she was no match for a weevil.

Suddenly, three loud reports echoed down the corridor, and the weevil collapsed onto her, its dead weight pinning her to the ground. Heavy footsteps pounded closer, and Gwen could see Jack above her, his old Webley revolver still in his hand. Tosh appeared just moments after, gun at the ready, covering them in case any more weevils were out for a stroll.

"Gwen! Are you ok?" Captain Jack Harkness asked, pulling the weevil off of Gwen.

"'M fine." Gwen had mumbled, biting her tongue against the furiously burning pain in her shoulder. She could feel Jack looking at her quizzically, disbelieving, but it was too dark in the corridor for him to see the blood that was slowly seeping through her black shirt. "Just another near-death experience," she joked, forcing light-hearted banter to her lips. Wounds, she knew, tended to feel worse than they were, and she could handle the pain. After all, there was no reason to make him worry.

As they walked slowly back towards the van, Tosh and Jack hauling the body of the weevil, Gwen found herself being careful to keep her right shoulder away from them, out of their sight. She made sure that she was the first to open the van's door, immediately grabbing her large black jacket and painfully forcing it on, effectively hiding both the injury and the evidence. She wasn't really _hiding_ the fact that she was injured, but she knew there were more important things at the moment, like finding and wiping the minds of the people who had seen the weevil before they decided to spread the word. Or worse—send around photos of the creature.

And there was also the small matter of her iatrophobia—her fear of doctors. Even since she was young, Gwen had been illogically, inconsolably frightened of doctors and medical procedures. Maybe it was because she had once had an older brother who died in the hospital after a car crash, maybe it was because she was a private person and doctors tended to pry, maybe it was because she was simply stubborn and refused to give into pain, the reason really didn't matter. She didn't see a doctor unless the situation was life or death. Last she had checked, the shoulder was not a life-threatening place to have an injury. Therefore, she would care for this would on her own. No fuss necessary, because Gwen hated fuss.

Adrenaline from the fight had numbed the pain some, but by the time they had returned to the hub, Gwen was weak from blood loss and was strongly considering simply chopping her own shoulder just off to stop the burning pain that flickered with every minute movement. All she wanted to do was go home, wrap her shoulder, and fall into a dreamless sleep.

"Jack—" Gwen muttered as they entered the hub, intending to ask him if she could leave. Her face was grey and exhausted, and the American had taken one look at her and grimaced.

"Go home, Gwen, you look knackered." He interrupted, tilting his head and quirking the side of his mouth in a half-smile. So she had.

Now, it was nearing 2 o'clock in the morning, and Gwen was walking back into the Hub via the visitor's entrance, her shoulder on fire and bleeding through the makeshift wrap she had plastered over it.

She was beginning to think she may have misjudged it when she thought she could take care of this wound herself. After waking up half an hour ago, almost unable to move her shoulder, Gwen had realized that she needed real medical supplies—real ointment, a real bandage, and she knew that Owen kept all of that in the autopsy room in the Hub. Thus, leaving Rhys sleeping soundly in bed, she had set off at once to ease the pain that was burning in her shoulder.

* * *

To be continued!

Thanks so much for reading! Reviews, kind and critical alike, are incredibly welcome. This is the first fic I've written in a while . . . a long while, so please DO review. I'd love to hear what you think!

Also, be on the lookout for the conclusion of this story. Also, I'd like to continue this series with several other characters as well, so if you liked it, keep an eye out! Also, feel free to comment suggestions! I'd like to hear them!


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